


The Marriage Mishap

by myshelovka



Category: Blixa Bargeld (Musician), Einstürzende Neubauten, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Genre: Australian Culture, Car Accidents, Copious Car Accidents, Divorce, Europeans Who Don't Know American Geography, Gen, Las Vegas Wedding, Marriage, Nevada, Reno Divorce, Road Trips, Same-Sex Marriage, So So Many Car Accidents, lots of car accidents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 05:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17318987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myshelovka/pseuds/myshelovka
Summary: It's 198[REDACTED], Nick and Blixa have recently tied the knot in Vegas because that's just what good friends do and also they thought it'd be good for a joke and also because it'd be pretty cool but now they realize what they have done is not cool or funny and they must go to Reno because getting divorced anywhere outside of Reno is illegal and warrants the death penalty but also they don't know geography or how to get to Reno they think everywhere outside of Nevada besides New York and Los Angeles is Texas so this will definitely complicate things Robert Smith is there





	1. Dinner and (plans of) Divorce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jesus Christ](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jesus+Christ).



> This fanfic is not a fanfic. This fanfic is real life. 
> 
> Buy a gun.

Blixa always enjoyed long car drives with Nick, especially in the middle of the night when traffic was at it's worse. He loved the low, agonized screams of the car engine and the screech of the tires. He fancied the sound of glass shattering when Nick would drive through a gas station or some other building obstructing his path, and adored the little bumps when they went over potholes and dead bodies (both of which are quite copious on American roads), and right now what he was relishing the most was the silence and the wondrous view of the Eiffel Tower in the green glow of the sunset, the silence most of all -  
"Blixer," said Nick tentatively, disrupting the silence.  
" **WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!!!** " asked Blixa calmly as he turned his head to face Nick, who turned to face him even though he was driving. Nick opened his mouth to speak, "We need to get a divorce." said Blixa before Nick could even make a single mouth noise. "I was going to say that...." said Nick sadley, to whhich Blixa responded with a polite " _too bad whore_ ".  
"That means we gotta go to Reno, y'know..." sighed Nick, looking away from Blixa and back towards the road with a melancholic expression in his eyes.  
"I reno," said Blixa as he pulled a small piece of scrap metal out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth, chewing it big-dickedly with a big-dicked grin on his face.  
"Fuck you!" yelled Nick, and then he began sobbing into the steering wheel and he began swerving in and out of the 3 AM rush hour traffic and on and off the road and up and down in the air and off a bridge. The car flipped over thirty-two times and then did a backflip before parking itself right there on the desert floor.

  
"I'm so sorry," Nick sobbed as Blixa choked on his chewing metal, "my blood sugar is a tad low I can't help it.". He then lifted Blixa up, folded him against his face and blew his nose several times, then wiped his tears with Blixa's chest before putting him back into his seat. He sniffled and wiped another stray tear from his eye. Blixa coughed out the blood and phlegm coated metal onto Nick's lap, which he picked up and examined with an appreciative smile on his face.  
"Thank you, Blixa, this really means a lot to me..." Nick said as he slid the metal into his front pocket as Blixa gave him a weak smile and half-heartedly coughed a little extra blood onto Nick. Blixa sat up, and looked around before spotting a huge golden W - or was it an M? Blixa could not tell. He often got letters mixed up because he did not know the English alphabet very good.  
"I think that's a KFC in the distance - why don't we stop so we can raise your blood sugar and celebrate the coming of our divorce?" suggested Blixa quite eloquently for someone who had just choked on a piece of scrap metal.  
"That's a McDonald's, but sure I guess..." said Nick, refusing to make eye contact with Blixa.  
"Is this about the rings?" asked Blixa. The ring-picking process was a very arduous one, fraught with arguing and discord. Robert Smith was there. If their friendship wasn't so strong it would have broken them, and it nearly did. Blixa guessed Nick was still quite upset Blixa didn't like the ring he picked out for him when he finally snapped.  
"I don't want to talk about the rings but also I don't see why you hate yours so much it's a nice ring that fits exactly what you described anyways let's go" blurted out Nick as he started the car and began speeding towards the general direction of the McDonald's, which got larger and larger the closer they got. It was like the size of 3 Walmarts and it seemed to be situated almost in the middle of nowhere.  
"I don't like my ring because it looks obese," muttered Blixa as he looked at the rotund, diamond studded ring. Diamonds he demanded, diamonds he got, just not in the way he would have hoped for.

 

The parking lot only had 3 cars and it had room for about 300, but Nick still made a point of slamming into one car so hard it went flying across the parking lot, then he rammed their car in between the other two cars and parked diagonally. Blixa got out first, opening his door with such force it nearly flew off its hinges and somehow dented the car next to him (which made what was to him an orgasmic sound), and then stood there compulsively chewed on his car door while Nick was getting ready to get out. Nick slowly unbuckled his seatbelt with shaky hands and opened his car door. With some struggle, he started to lift his leg up and he began screaming and groaning with pain as he placed his foot on the ground. He repeated the process and slowly pushed himself up from his car seat and let out an unearthly shriek of pain reserved only for those experiencing the utmost agony. He stood up and closed the door behind him.

"C'mon," he said to Blixa, who stopped chewing on the door, as he began to saunter towards the entrance - swaying hips and all. Blixa swam behind him.

 

The inside was large, sterile, but barren. There were only 3 tables, and it was hard to see beyond it because there was an impenetrable fog a mile ahead. There was no counter or drink fountain to be seen. A man was reclining on one of the tables with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"Johnny Thunders?...with anemia?" murmured Blixa as he looked at the man, and then it clicked.

"Rowland! It's been like 30 years since we've seen each other!" cried Blixa as he ran to the table. Nobody in the room understood why Blixa was so excited to see Rowland considering that I'm pretty sure they didn't know each other that well other than they worked together a few times and Rowland got to see Blixa getting beaten in the name of music while a starving dog covered in microphones ate meat off the floor.

"It's been less than that - it's only been like, um, uh, I can't tell you," said Rowland awkwardly as Blixa slammed his head onto the floor tiles out of the sheer excitement of seeing Rowland S. Howard.

"Hi, Rowland. Would you happen to know where the counter here is?" asked Nick politely, and Rowland only glared at him.

"Do not address me directly, song pig. Your very existence nauseates me and I despise your presence. I don't care if you're my step-son or my ex-bandmate or my father or my dog. You reflect all that I find repulsive and you're kind of a little bitch too, come to think of it. If I had no morals and if there were no laws I would kill you where you stand. Also, the counter is up ahead, past the fog." said Rowland calmly as Blixa writhed on the floor.

"Oh, okay - sorry," Nick responded half-heartedly, and he looked down at Blixa.

"Are you coming with me, Blix?" asked Nick.

"I do not want to get off this floor right now. It is very clean and there is no pain."

Blixa rolled around on the floor.

Nick already had a vague idea of what to get for Blixa, so he began to walk towards the fog. He kept walking. He kept walking. He kept walking. The walk would never end.

crawled towards Rowland's table.

"So...Nick's your dog?" he asked, suddenly taking on a Valley Girl accent, laying on the floor stomach down with his head resting on his palm. His waist appeared to be backward and his legs were crossed.

"Yeah. Bred him for the lucrative business of dog shows," Rowland responded with an awkward smile, "he was a sweet puppy, but he's changed." the smile was gone.

"But he's also older than you?" Blixa asked again with an inquisitive tone. His eyes narrowed in Rowland's direction. Rowland's expression went dead.

" **Почему почемучка почемучкает** " he said, and Blixa went silent. He could not read Cyrillic so he did not respond.

Meanwhile, Nick had been walking.

30 minutes had passed and he had nearly fallen over with exhaustion, he had walked about 3 miles (that's like 5km i think) and he was sweating so much he had gone from walking to swimming towards the counter. That's when the fog cleared and he saw the counter, at the very end of the room.  There were a couple of small handwoven baskets filled with sauces and napkins and the like hanging off the front of the counter, and to the left of the counter, there was the fountain drink machine, a mini-fridge, and a telephone. At the counter stood a short but incredibly buff (i mean absolutely ripped. bulging with muscles. a total beefcake) girl with black hair, brown eyes, and jade green skin. Nick approached the counter apologetically, and as he got closer he could see her nametag, which simply had 'Smiths' on it.

"W-welcome to McDonald's, how may I take your, uh, your order?" she stammered, her tone conveying what was either a sense of fear or astonishment. Perhaps both.

"I know it's probably weird to have a rockstar show up here at 3 AM -" Nick started,

"You're a musician? I'm more concerned about you being covered in, y'know," she tried to explain as her eyes widened. Nick noticed she had what appeared to be three different irises in the same eye.

"I don't know." stated Nick bluntly.

"You're covered in blood." Smiths finished.

"Don't worry about that - just get me, I don't know, 13 large fries, a bottle of water and a large Sturgeon Tea?" 

"We don't have sturgeon tea - would sweet tea be fine?"

"Good enough, can I get milk too in that case?" Nick said with a feeling of crushing disappointment.

"That'll be $34.93, sir," said Smiths.

Nick handed her a tearstained $50 bill.

"I am so sorry for existing please keep the change" Nick apologized as he wondered how the hell they were going to cook the fries with no kitchen.

"It's fine," Smiths said as she rung him up, and then she ran over to the phone and dialed a number. 2 minutes passed and the other end finally picked up, and he could hear Karma Chameleon blaring from the receiver as Smiths struggled to communicate the order to the other end. While she was busy, Nick began to discreetly steal as much sauce and napkins as he could from the baskets until his pockets were stuffed. Nick could hear a very audible sigh of relief when she finally hung up, then she grabbed the milk and water out the fridge.

"Our kitchen's in the basement's basement," she explained as she walked back over, "your order will be ready in a couple of minutes."

 

 

Meanwhile, Blixa was still on the floor and Rowland had been in a somewhat catatonic state since his little Slavic slip. Blixa had taken to licking the floor instead of merely writhing or rolling on it, and by now he was really starting to miss Nick even though it had only been like 40 minutes since he left.

"Rowland." 

Rowland shot up from the table and began screaming.

"Is that we'd you are smoking?" Blixa asked.

"Noe it is to back toe."

"Well fuck you. Asshole." Blixa said as he pulled out a glock.

"Please calm down Blixa, I lied, I am not smoking the to backe toe leafe. I am smoking scorpion." 

"Umm nice," said Blixa, then he shot the ceiling.

"Rowland...I've got 4 glocks," he continued, "one for every cop I kill." Blixa grinned slyly

"заееебииись, babey! keep up the groovy work!" exclaimed Rowland, smiling from ear to ear in the way that makes your scorpion cigarettes stick upwards.

"If you say another one of those words I can't read you're gonna be my 5th glock." he threatened.

"I'm not a cop??"

"I'll make you one." Blixa said with a solemn expression. 

 

Just as Nick graciously accepted the bags of hot fries, he felt a pang of resentment towards Blixa for not coming with him to at least carry the drinks.

"Have a good night!" said the green cashier, her smile hiding her intense desire to keel over and die on the spot.

"Thank you and you too and, um, do you know where the bathroom is?" 

Smiths looked up at him like he was an absolute maniac, a fool-faced idiot, a blight on humanity.

"You go out the exit and you take a right there should be a hill with an outhouse on top about a mile away. Also, I ought to warn you there's no toilet paper up there, only banana leaf."

"Uh, thank you. Have a good night," said Nick awkwardly, and then he turned around and left. For the entire 30 minute walk back, he cried.

 

"Nick. I see that you have returned. deadpanned Blixa as Nick nearly collapsed on the floor on his way to the table, when he got there he placed the bags and the drinks down in a seat and sat down next to them.

"Rowland. Why must you be on the table?" asked Nick.

"Do not address me directly, song pig. Your very existence nauseates me and I despise your presence. I don't care if you're my step-son or my ex-bandmate or my father or my dog. You reflect all that I find repulsive and you're kind of a little bitch too, come to think of it. If I had no morals and if there were no laws I would kill you where you stand. Also, I am laying on the table because my body is like that of Jesus Christ's. My blood is wine. My flesh is cracker. I am a meal in my own right."

"Sorry," said Nick as he took one of the containers of fries out and handed it to Blixa, "Pass that to him, he looks emaciated," he whispered.

"I will not," said Blixa as he did.

Rowland took the fries and merely stared at them. 

It was now time for Nick to prepare his Sturgeon Tea.

He placed his sweet tea on the table (away from Rowland of course) and took the lid off and began to pour the milk in it as his dining companions watched him curiously. Then he took the sauces packets out of his pockets and sorted through them, picking out 30 packets of tartar sauce, habanero ranch, and sweet and sour sauce. He tore them open and began sucking the sauce out but not quite swallowing it. Nick then took a fistful of fries and consumed them with his mouthful of sauce. He sat for a moment, then he crammed his fingers down his throat and began vomiting into the milk-tea mixture. Rowland cringed, and Blixa just stared blankly. Nick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled a small packet of sand out of his sleeve and poured it in, and stirred it vigorously with a straw. 

"Nick? Are you okay?" Blixa asked with genuine concern, but Nick ignored him, instead, he took a sip of the Sturgeon Tea, and then another, and then a simple sip became a cheerful chug.

" **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA** , just like mom used to make!" he sighed nostalgically.

"Lord, I sure hope not!" cried out Rowland distressedly. 

"That would be grounds to call CPS!" added Blixa with a hint of panic. Just _what_ has his best-friend-gone-husband-soon-to-be-ex-husband gone through?

"Why do you all insist on disrespecting my culture?!" snapped Nick.

"You know what, Nick," Rowland started with sudden aggression, "when people talk about "those craaazy Australians", they mean you and your family specifically. You and your kin make our country look so goddamn awful and it's hard to be patriotic knowing your kind hasn't been culled yet."

"Then why did you marry my mom? How did you marry my mom? You were like 20 and still in middle school!" Nick snapped.

"Do not address me directly, song pig. Your very existence nauseates me and I despise your presence. I don't care if you're my step-son or my ex-bandmate or my father or my dog. You reflect all that I find repulsive and you're kind of a little bitch too, come to think of it. If I had no morals and if there were no laws I would kill you where you stand. Also, my relationship with your mother is none of your business." said Rowland firmly.

"It is," insisted Nick, "she's my mother!"

"Good for you," said Rowland.

Blixa sat there in silence drinking his water and hoping a fight would break out, but alas, none did and Nick went back to sadly drinking his tea and eating fries while Rowland continued to stare at his.

Blixa put down his water, straightened up, and looked the other dark-haired man that's not Nick in the eyes.

"Rowland, when Nick and I finalize our divorce, would you be interested in helping me with another project?" 

"I'm flattered, Blixa," said Rowland civilly but with a degree of discomfort, "but I don't swing that way."

"That wasn't that kind of proposition," said Blixa. A long, awkward silence followed.

"What way do you swing then, Rowland? Personally, I swing every way that is not in the direction of Nick Cave.... or the sex offender registry." Blixa said in an attempt to both dispel the silence and his own curiosity, even though there was a chance he was making this much, much worse.

Rowland sat there in thoughtful silence and looked towards Blixa with a saturnine expression.

"Me? I only ever swing towards the ones that don't swing back."

Rowland sighed and got off the table, relit his cigarette, and walked off into the foggy McDonalds.

"What a guy." murmured both Nick and Blixa in admiration, then they continued their meal in relative silence. About 20 minutes in, Nick cried out into the fog.

"The bathroom is outside! You go out the exit and you take a right there's a hill with an outhouse on top about a mile away! They only have banana leaves too! No toilet paper!"

It echoed throughout the restaurant, and soon a "Thanks!" echoed back and footsteps could be heard in the distance.

 

Nick got out of his chair slowly as he generally did with many agonized screams and grunts and then he and Blixa then discarded their trash because they were not bastards and they left the cursed McDonald's and got back into Nick's murder-pink cadillac.

"To Reno, Nick."

"To Reno."

Then they drove in the direct opposite direction of Reno. 

 

to be continued

 

 


	2. Chapter 2: Burning Fire, Burning Desire, Burning Wire, Burning Hire, Burning Sire, Burning Liar, Burning Briar, Burning Tire, Burning Choir, Burning Squire, Burning Buyer, Burning Dire, Burning Driver, Burning Expire, Burning G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after spending roughly a month in prison for gay crimes i am back and ready to attack. i have also gotten re-circumcised, which i believe will help me truly connect to g-d and thus help me improve as a bard.

It was now roughly 4Am (four a-minor). They had still not gotten to Reno. Blixa had nearly chewed his index finger off in his brief slumber. "NICK!" he mumbled with very great and extreme exhaustion, startling Nick and causing him to swerve through the White House. Attempting to compose himself, Nick brushed his hair out of his face, and then styled it, and then did his makeup, and then tailored his own cow-patterned suit, before turning to Blixa.

"Yes, darling?" said Nick in a way that sounded like he had just poured a gallon of high fructose corn syrup into his greedy mouth and down his needy throat, which caused Blixa to shed a tear for the first time in over a decade, the saccharine sound of his voice physically repulsing the little insectlike man.

"Nick, please do not say 'darling' like that again. Please. I am begging you," said Blixa as he wiped the tear from his face with his masticated finger, leaving a shimmering off-white smear on his pallid face. "Sorry, won't happen again," he let out a dejected sigh. Nick's heart was shattered and he was going to die. The silence that followed was long and deeply uncomfortable. It weighed down on Nick's guts and caused them to literally churn in his abdomen, which caused him great pain.

Blixa broke the silence with: "Is it okay if I turn on the radio?" 

To which Nick replied: "You will never turn on the radio, never turn on the radio, you'll never turn on the radio, ever turn on the radio, never ever turn on the radio - don't you see you can't turn on the radio?"

Blixa turned on the radio. Cucurrucucu Paloma played. He changed the station. Cucurrucucu Paloma continued to play. He changed the station. It was still Cucurrucucu Paloma. He went through nearly every station and they all played Cucurrucucu Paloma. He changed to the final station, and Baby Turns Blue played so loudly that the radio **_exploded_**.

"This is why I told you not to turn on the radio! You ruin everything you touch, you hot-maggoty-garbage-angel!" cried out Nick, who then began sobbing into the steering wheel again and ruining his immaculate eyeliner.

In the corner of Blixa's icy periwinkle powder ocean sky cerulean cobalt sapphire aquamarine brown eyes, he saw a glint of two strange white orbs not unlike those of the eyes of very wild deer and crackheads prowling the streets of West Berlin at night. Their dark soulless eyes would reject and reflect any light shone at them in the same way they had rejected Blixa's gracious offers of pot brownies.

_Blixa had no sympathy for those bastards._

Although the car was going at least 200kmph, the glowing-eyed figure seemed to be merely walking towards the car. "Nick," hissed Blixa at the sobbing man to his left, "There's something following us!"

Nick did not hear him, he was too busy sobbing. He was partially on fire from where the radio exploded, but he did not burn. The car came to a sudden halt, and Blixa looked back only to see Rowland pinching the car by its tailfin. Rowland seemed to be caught in the peculiar state of having a calm and collected demeanor while also seething with rage.

"Hey, Nick! Get the fuck out, ya cunt!"

Nick very halfheartedly took his foot off the gas pedal and unbuckled his seat-belt. He opened his car door with a shaking hand and tried to step out, but Rowland grabbed him by his cufflinks and snatched him out of the car as Blixa sat there in silence (and passive compliance).

"You didn't tell me there were fuckin' banana leaves in there!" he snarled as Nick lay upon the sand. Rowland kicked him.

"I did, I swear to the angels I did-" Nick stammered as he tried to get up, only to be knocked down by Rowland again.

"You know how much I hate bananas! You know this! Yet you still led me into a situation where I would be surrounded by banana materials. Why?!" Rowland cried out, yelling "Why?!" over and over again, delivering each 'why' with a kick in Nick's ribs, near Nick's ribs, and into the ground, sending sand flying everywhere. He sunk to his knees and sobbed.

"I put my trust in you, Nick, and you betrayed me. You fucking betrayed me. You're going to pay." Rowland grabbed a bucket of banana leaves from the outhouse and started to crawl towards Nick.

"Please tell me those haven't been-"

 

Blixa sat in the car and applied layer after layer of strawberry chapstick as he stared blankly at the dashboard, zoning out of the screams, crunching, and choking noises outside the car. He thought of a better time, a fonder memory.

 

_West Berlin, Autumn of 198[REDACTED]_

 

_Nick had graciously invited Blixa to his apartment one afternoon, and the moment he stood in front of the door Blixa knew something was very, very wrong. There was a strange tittering noise coming from behind the door, and when Nick answered the door his overly giddy disposition as he gestured for Blixa to come inside was unnerving, and the room reeked strongly of urine. Nick's gestures for him to come inside grew more frantic and exaggerated. Blixa stepped over the threshold, then took another step, then took another step, then nearly stepped in some kind of fecal matter, then took another step, then took another step, then took another step, and then stopped. He stood over a small slimy mass of what appeared to be chewed up fruit. The tittering from earlier was now even louder. There was a large mahogany cabinet that Blixa never remembered being in Nick's apartment._

_"I can't wait for you to meet my babies!" Nick gushed, and before Blixa could open his mouth to speak Nick had gone over to the cabinet and swung the doors open and a swarm of piss-oiled bats came flying out. Blixa screamed as the bats swarmed around him and flew into his hair, some getting stuck and some getting it on, much to his own horror and discomfort._

_"I couldn't get any vampire bats, so fruit bats had to do! Aren't they just adorable?!" Nick squealed, and then he began pointing out the bats and listing their names as Blixa fell to the floor screeching. Bats were in his hair, bats were in his eyes, bats were everywhere. Robert Smith was there._

_"This is Hamlet, This is Carmilla, That's Dracula over there -"_

_"Fuck you, Nick! And fuck your bats too!" screamed Blixa as he scrambled towards the door, trying in vain to tear the bats from his tangled mass of hair. Blixa's body may have been a theatre of cruelty, but this was beyond cruelty. This was an atrocity. This was arguably worse than 9/11, maybe even the Shoah. What're some of my ancestors dying horrible deaths to Blixa Bargeld getting attacked by horny bats?_

_Tomorrow afternoon, Nick Cave was required by the government to release the bats, and Nick never quite forgave Blixa for snitching._

 

Blixa was snapped out of his flashback sequence with the sound of cheering and fire crackling. He looked out of the open door of the driver's seat and saw Nick and Rowland standing around a bonfire with Robert Smith and they were all waving their arms in the air and chanting "Yeah!", as if Rowland was not trying to commit assault with a deadly banana leaf bucket earlier. Blixa got out and approached the two, and before he knew it he had lost all control of his body. Blixa's arms waved violently through the air and he began yelling along with them with reckless abandon - or was it freedom?

 

Soon, it was 6Am (six a minor). They had collapsed from exhaustion and laid prostrate with their eyes fixed on the sky above them. Robert Smith was no longer there. There was little else they could do now except breathe, and with some effort, talk.

 

"Nick..." Rowland started weakly, "you can address me directly now if you want, I don't really mind anymore," 

After a pause, Nick gave his response.

"Rowland. You're a bitch."

Blixa came out of his stupor and began to snicker, and Rowland immediately groaned a "Fuck off!"

 They lay there in a comfortable silence for a few minutes until Rowland props himself up and looks at the other two men.

"So, after you get divorced and head back to Berlin, what do you think you'll do?"

Nick remained silent as his face contorted into a pained expression, and Blixa shrugged.

"Hm, I'll probably lock myself up with a Blueboy and a few drills for a day or two." 

Nick's face contorted even more, and he growled.

"You kids have it so easy these days, with your little movies and magazines and power tools!" he spat as he sat up and crossed his arms.

"Back in my day, if I wanted to get my rocks off, I'd stick my cock in the roach box!"

Blixa and Rowland stared at him. Nick was only two years older than them- and Blixa didn't even read Blueboy with erotic intent! - yet he had somehow found a way to ruin the day before it was even started.

Blixa and Rowland simultaneously shot up stood over Nick and started pointing at him.

"How DARE you! How DARE you! How DARE you!" they shouted as they stood over him as Nick began screaming in agonie and humiliation. Nick said a lot of things, and Nick really should not say things at all. He had dug his own grave. He had created his own purgatory of "How DARE you!". He would die on this desert floor with shame running through his veins. This was his fate.

This was what he deserved, but it was not the end.

 

=to be continued=>


	3. Chapter Three: Put Some Chest On Your Hair!

Thirty-six minutes of Nick-shaming had passed, and the light snow the glorious state of Nevada (Texas? Oklahoma? Alaska?) had every morning descended upon the trio. Nick had been scooping sand and ash into his mouth to suppress his screams as Rowland continued shouting "How DARE you!" in his trance-like state. Blixa had torn off the front of his homemade black wedding ballgown, revealing a strange rope harness constricting his emaciated (apart from the very out-of-place six-pack) body and Hello Kitty stickers over his nipples, and he let out primal howls, not unlike those of men who were told they couldn't get photos of last night's threesome at the trailer-park swing party developed a developed at CVS. Blixa stomped around Nick in his black rain boots which sent flecks of snow and clouds of sand flying through the air, and his stomping turned into jumps and skips just as his howls turned into agonized screeches and he looked as though he was doing some kind of bizarre ritual.

An expression of grief? A declaration of war? Or perhaps a frenzied-yet-bedazzling mating dance? Nick opened his eyes for the first time in 18 minutes and he was immediately captured. This. This was the most beautiful thing he had seen since Amsterdam. It was the most beautiful thing he had seen since he saw his husband on television - **no homo** \- and was immediately transfixed. He was still transfixed, and he realized that he never truly stopped being transfixed with Blixa. And Blixa let out the scream that had haunted Nick since he first heard it, and his heart felt full. He had been so utterly entranced that he hadn't realized Rowland had gone silent and he had been staring at Blixa too, but with confusion as opposed to admiration. Blixa fell on his back and huffed, looking back at the two as if to say "what the fuck are you two looking at?". Rowland brushed non-existent dirt off of his leopard print button-up and pulled himself off the ground by his black suspenders.

"Well kidses, I must go. I must not be late to see Rogert. I will not be late to see Rogert. I cannot be late to see Rogert." he explained as he pulled out a scorpion cigarette and lit it by sheer will. He tossed a polaroid photo in Nick's direction. 

"Wait! Who's Rogert?" asked Nick, but Rowland was already gone, for he had walked away really fast. Nick hadn't looked at the photo and lay there clutching it against his chest. Blixa stood over Nick with his hands on his hips and nudged his cheek with the tip of his boot.

"Are we going, Nick?" 

"Yeah, sure, hold on," he melancholically grumbled as he got up and they both got back into the car. Nick sat down and finally looked at the picture Rowland had given him, and then he burst into tears. Blixa peered over his shoulder and saw what was perhaps the most touching family photo he had ever seen, and it was only of Nick and Rowland.

Nick pulled a picture frame out of thin air and placed the picture in it, and then super-glued it to the dashboard while Blixa suppressed tears.

 

Nick suddenly slammed on the gas and they went flying into the air and rear-ended a sky-ambulance which rear-ended another sky-ambulance which rear-ended a police car. Sirens blared. Nick nearly pissed himself as all the cars began to fall to the ground like mechanic angels. Blixa began hissing as the hair on his head puffed up like a porcupine's quills as he saw the cop approach in the rearview mirror. Nick pulled out the IV bag. "Don't," Blixa snapped as he slid his hand into his Hello Kitty purse Nick bought him for their 48-hour honeymoon, "I'll handle it."

"Blixa, please don't s-" Nick tried to beg him. It was too late. The cop was at the window and Nick reluctantly rolled it down.

Before the cop could speak, Blixa pulled out two glocks and began screaming.

"I'VE GOT FOUR GLOCKS MOTHERFUCKER! ONE FOR EVERY COP I KILL! I WILL NOT NOT FUCK YOU UP!" he screeched as flung himself over Nick and pointed the glocks at the cop, convulsing violently and cackling all the while.

"Ma'am what the fuck," said the cop before Blixa fired several shots into him, killing him instantly. Screams were heard.

"You didn't have to kill him!" cried Nick, to which Blixa only responded "it."

Another cop approached.

"You can't just kill people, sir, that's uh, quite illegal," he said, and then Blixa shot him anyways. Nick buried his face in his hands as he sensed more of the poor bastards approaching. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he would do. Blixa crawled over him and hung out of the car window and continued firing. Minutes passed. Blixa continued firing. Blixa slid back in the car and reloaded. He popped out the window again. Blixa continued firing. Blixa continued firing. Blixa continued firing. Blixa continued firing. Nick began crying. Blixa continued firing. Blixa stopped firing.

"That's all of them!" he cheered as he pulled himself back in the car and just awkwardly laid on Nick's legs.

"Blixa you just committed mass murder! We're going to go to jail and we can't get divorced in jail!" said Nick between sobs.

"Don't worry about it, I've got a plan," Blixa smiled as he flicked his finger against Nick's very large forehead, which did not comfort Nick at all.

"Excuse me, do you have a permit?" said an unfamiliar voice. It was another cop at the window.

"Why yes, I sure do!" replied Blixa as he pulled a folded of paper out of his purse and handed it to the cop. It unwrapped it and read it.

It simply had "BLiXA CAN KiLL COPs" and "BLiXA KANN COPs TÖTEN" scrawled in black crayon, inside a black heart outline. There were random stickers near the corners of the paper and a bad crayon drawing of Blixa stood beneath the drawing with arms outstretched with a glock in each 'hand'.

"Alright, you're good," said the cop as it handed the 'permit' back, then it turned away and Blixa heard what sounded like it informing what few cops were left about the situation through it's...walkie talkie thing? Blixa did not know what this was called, and neither did I. When it stopped speaking, Blixa shot it.

"This is just fucking crazy." Nick groaned as Blixa crawled back to his seat.

"I thought you liked crazy girls," shot back Blixa with a wry smile, and Nick shifted uncomfortably.

"Well," he started with a long pause, "you _are_ crazy, but you're not a girl," and he physically felt the atmosphere deteriorate.

"You don't know that you filthy virgin!" snapped Blixa as he stuffed his glocks and cop-killing permit back into his purse, "Now drive!" he hissed.

Nick did not process anything that came before "drive". He simply couldn't. So he drove roughly in the direction of Reno.

 

=to be continued=>

 


	4. Chatper Four4: A Quick Stop at the Quickstop Inn

 

it be 11am. it is. yes.

Nick was very exhausted because he had not actually slept in 2 days (and neither has Blixa) and that is not good at all. Nick was going 400kmph and swerving into cars at random out of sheer anger from being exhausted and also exhaustion and also anger and a strange ache in his heart that was impairing his judgment severely and also hormones and also the development of a testicular cyst and also indigestion. Meanwhile, Blixa had dozed off while chewing on a huge chain and he had a most serene expression on his gaunt face and that was the only thing keeping Nick from jumping out of the Cadillac and beating everyone and everything in sight for an adrenaline rush, and it was also the reason why he was experiencing mild heart attack symptoms. Each time he glanced at him or even just saw him in his peripheral vision he felt that anxious twist in his stomach like his guts were balling up into a fist and reeling back to hit him in the heart as hard as possible, which was deeply uncomfortable and made him want to die to death until he was dead.

While he was dwelling on his feelings, he ran over a crocodile which awoke Blixa with a jolt and caused Nick to scream and cream and also scream. Blixa let out _the_ scream in solidarity. Nick's car careened and levitated briefly until he landed in front of a vulture tearing apart fresh roadkill, who refused to move. She was not leaving her lunch and she was not sharing it. 

"Are you okay?!" cried out Blixa, but it was too late. Nick had already busted open the car door and scrambled out, pouncing on the vulture and beating it with his bare fists as Blixa shut his eyes tightly. Nick screamed. The vulture screamed. Nick continued screaming. The vulture went silent. Blixa opened his eyes and saw Nick hurl the presumably unconscious vulture across the Mojave, then he got down on his hands and knees and began eating the rest of the roadkill, pulling up pinkish strands from the asphalt with his teeth. Blixa closed his eyes again and refused to open them until he heard the car door shut and felt the car start moving again, and he looked over to Nick who simply stared ahead. A little blood was smeared on his mouth, so Blixa hitched up his gown and pulled a handkerchief out of the secret pocket in his thong, spat on it, and wiped it on the corner of Nick's mouth like some little Jewish mother trying to get a little dirt off her son's face. Nick's grip on the steering wheel tightened and his knuckles went as white as mayonnaise on water crackers.  

"Again. Are you okay?" repeated Blixa, this time with a calmer tone. Nick's face contorted into a pained expression like the one he had when Rowland asked about their post-divorce plans. Blixa felt a pang of pity, but not much else as he forgot to pack his empathy before they left Berlin. "Is it about me killing the cops?" he tried, but Nick remained silent. He sighed. "Is it about the divorce?" he tried again. Nick's expression somehow became more pained to the point it became genuinely disturbing to look at him. 

"I know you're anxious about getting to Reno! You don't need to feel guilty about wanting to divorce me -" Blixa was cut off with Nick letting out an ear-splitting wail.

"I don't wanna get divorced, Blix! I don't want a goddamn divorce," he keened, "I love having this whole husband-and-wife duo thing we have going on!" 

Blixa stared at him blankly as Nick started crying as he rammed the car into a street light near a strange-looking building and parked there. Two wordless minutes passed.

"Who...who is the wife?" asked Blixa, as he would be enraged if Nick suddenly declared him to be the wife just because he wore the dress. Nick swung his head towards him and calmly screeched out "IT'S ** _ME!!!_** I'M THE WIFE HERE!" to which Blixa merely replied "oh". Nick collapsed into the steering wheel and continued crying. "I don't want to lose you, Blixa, I-" Blixa stopped paying attention; he started looking out the window at the nearby building which had a large green neon sign that said " **QUICK** S **TOP MOTEL** " in comic sans. The S in 'Stop' was not lit, so it looked more like the QUICKTOP MOTEL. 

"Nick, neither of us have slept for more than an hour in two fucking days. We should stop, get rooms, sleep, and then we can talk about this when our minds are clear," he said in an attempt to reason with the bereaved Nick. He slowly lifted his head up from the wheel, which was caked in snot and remnants of runny makeup from all the other times Nick cried into it. "We can get a room, I guess," he grumbled.

"Not _a_ room, _rooms_." Blixa repeated, putting an almost excessive amount of emphasis on the word "rooms" while Nick looked at him with a dead expression. Blixa stared him at straight in his puffy eyes and Nick looked back.

"I think we need a little time away from each other," Blixa explained before Nick could say anything, "and even if that isn't the case you still can't get me to share a room with you today."

"What about tomorrow?" asked Nick hopefully, but Blixa ignored him and got out the car with his purse. Blixa had the bulk of the money, he had the bulk of the guns, he had the bulk of the beans, therefore he had the bulk of the power. Nick reluctantly followed even though getting out the car without assistance caused him torment and agonizing pain, and then they began to crawl towards the motel. It looked as large as a warehouse from the outside, but when they got in the reception area was boxed in tightly, only being about the size of a coffin. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating the leopard-print walls. At the tiny leopard-print desk stood Smiths.

"Smiths!" exclaimed Nick from behind Blixa's shoulder as if he were seeing an old friend as opposed to the girl who took his McDonald's order less than 12 hours ago, "Why are you working here? I thought you worked at McDonald's-"

"Poverty." she deadpanned, and Nick murmured an apology and shrunk back behind Blixa.

"Can I get you a room?" she asked with that same dead voice. One encounter with Nick and her untreated depression was enough to help her handle anything else, her apathy had become one of the green girl's defining traits.

"Two, just for today," said Blixa.

"That'll be $300 and a pound of beans." she sighed.

Blixa misheard her as he did not know English very well and handed her $3,000 dollars and a pounded bean. Blixa stood there and stared back at her with the same apathetic expression and sighed. She sighed. He groaned. She groaned. He jumped up and down and spun around. She jumped up and down and spun around. He looked her deep in the eyes, and she looked right back. Silence followed. Nick felt a pang of jealousy.

"You know what? That works too." Smiths said as she took them. She handed them her keys and a trap door opened beneath them and they fell down screaming. After they landed on the stained red carpet floor below, Smiths peered in at them from above the trap door.

"There are stairs down there. You, sir," She looked Nick straight in the eyes, "your room is the last one on the right."

"And you," she turned to Blixa, "yours is the last door on the left on the 7th floor."

"Why did you put us so far apart?!" cried out Nick. Smiths did not respond. The trap door closed.

 

Nick went to his room and then watched Blixa clamber up the stairs until he left his sight. He was a maiden watching the ship her husband was on depart for money and opportunity in another countryountry, which he would likely never come back from, instead choosing to start a new family and forget her. Blixa was his husband. He went inside his room, which was filled with garbage and had crucifixes lining the walls, threw one of his guns down on the empty bedside table, and crawled into the hair-coated bed, and he did not sleep. He chose to cry instead, and cry he did. An hour passed and he got up from the bed and turned to his bedside table which had a telephone and a big button that just said "BLIXA" on it. The telephone was not there before. His gun was gone. 

He picked up the phone and held it between his head and shoulder and began slamming the BLIXA button until he heard a groggy "Hallo?" from the other end. Nick squealed in delight.

"Blixa!" he cried out, and then he heard him hang up immediately even though he knew it was Blixa and now his stomach felt funny again and he desired death. Rejection. Rejection. Rejection. He suppressed his abused tear-ducts and dialed again.

"Go away, I'm trying to sleep!" Blixa snapped from the other end.

"WHY DO YOU HATE ME?!" screamed Nick into the receiver which nearly caused Blixa to go deaf.

"I don't hate you I'm just tired," Blixa tried to explain but Nick howled so loudly he couldn't think.

"Am I not good enough for you?!" cried Nick as he tore his jacket off before Blixa could respond he screamed again.

"It's Mufti, isn't it? He's got so many muscles, he's a wall of meat, turns the marble of a Greek statue green with envy, an absolute Einheit -" Nick cut himself off with a sob as he unbuttoned his shirt.

"Nick, you're delirious!" yelled Blixa, and then Nick tore off his shirt, revealing a carpet of hair on his chest that rustled and a loud cacophony came out of it like it was a little jungle of hair. Blixa swore he heard what sounded like an elephant honking and the shriek of a distressed monkey and circus music.

"LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT THROUGH THE PHONE YOU WHORE!" bellowed as he rubbed the phone against his chest and unbuckled his pants and pulled them down only to reveal black and red bat-patterned briefs with "RELEASE THE BATS" written on.

"Nick, I cannot see anything," Blixa said, and then he heard the crying of a baby and Nick hollered in pain. Blixa hung up and left his room as quickly as he could even though he had to meticulously step over the swarm of crabs in his room, as he did not want to crush any of them for it may kill them and he really couldn't handle the guilt that would come with murdering an innocent right now. He flung himself down the stairs and tumbled all the way down to the first floor as people with many eyes who were just trying to get to their rooms stared at him. When he got to Nick's room, he tore the door off of its hinges. It was not Nick's room. A horrified person of indeterminate gender stared at him as they held a cherry pie to their genitalia and clenched one of their very small nipples with a lobster claw. Their TV was on and it was playing the show of some televangelist. Blixa apologized profusely and re-attached the door, and then went running to Nick's room and tore the door of its hinges again, only to see Nick laying on the bed letting out pained cries and breathing deeply. Blixa ran in and grabbed his hand, crying out Nick's name as a gooey head started to emerge from Nick's thick chest hair. The lights in his room turned red as the crying of an infant got louder and louder, but to be fair it also could have been Nick's crying too.

"what the fuck..." shrieked Blixa, Nick squeezed his hands and looked at him, "I don't know what the fuck is going on, dude," said Nick as an infant suddenly shot out of his chest hair and landed on his stomach, causing Nick to vomit up his Sturgeon Tea and McDonald's fries all over himself and the blood-red-hair-bed he lay upon.

"I guess that's our son now," moaned Nick even though the baby was clearly not male - or female. Nick didn't know anatomy, so it was ok. He grabbed the ooey-gooey babby and wrapped it in a garbage bag and raised it up like it was Simba or some shit.

"Wolfgang Bargeld!"

Blixa had a near-death experience.

"You can't name it after my ex!" snapped Blixa.

"Wolfgang is such a cool name though," grumbled Nick, "because like, it has wolf and it has gang and it's Wolfgang so like it's a wolf-gang a gang of wolves that's so rad," he rambled, and then looked up again.

"How about Rage?" Nick suggested, which caused Blixa's eyes to pop out of his eye sockets and start rubbing Nick's face.

"No!" he squealed.

"Fine. Rage Chelvis Bargeld. Take it or leave it, bitch," snarled Nick.

"Leave it!" cried Blixa, but Nick ignored him and cooed at their son, Rage Chelvis Bargeld.

"It is not a Bargeld! That thing is not my child!" shouted Blixa, but Nick ignored him completely. Blixa stepped back, then took another step back, and then ran towards the door but then he tripped over a pile of garbage and hit his head really hard against one of the crucifixes and everything went black.

 

=to be continued=>


	5. Chapter 6: nick Has a Dreme

An ungodly amount of time had passed since our heroes had been defeated in their war on sleep, and for much of that time, they had dreamt of a contented emptiness, and of sinking into black mud and eating lice out of each other's hair and dancing like scorpions and listening to 2pac who begot 3pac who begot 4pac who begot 5pac who begot 6pac and so forth. Nick had always considered his shared dreams with Blixa to be a valid reason to marry him, although Blixa did not agree with this sentiment and often threatened to kill his son if Nick bought it up, although they were both childless (at the time). At the moment, Nick was smearing Blixa's mashed-potato-colored chest with the boneblack mud as he moaned and groaned and moaned and also groaned into his face. Nick rubbed the mud deeper into Blixa's pallid flesh and he let out a whine, a whimper, and then an absurdly loud squawk. A giant Cuban cockroach flew out of Blixa's mouth and onto Nick's face and he cried out in pure bliss, which was completely ruined by an unfamiliar voice whispering to him, the whispers getting gradually louder until they became wails.

"It was all a dream, Nick!"

Nick woke up screaming with a gun in his hand, thrashing violently and foaming at the mouth as he rolled off a sack of potatoes. Blixa was standing there, but Rage was not there.  
"It was all a dream," Blixa repeated calmly while Nick thrashed and fired bullets into the heavily graffitied wall, and whoever was next door yelled at them in German.  
"What was all a dream?! How do you know?!" yelled Nick, and Blixa just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
"I'm going to say the n-word," said Blixa, which caused his companion to start quaking.  
"Y-you can't say that," Nick stammered, "it's wrong! You can't do it!"  
"I'm gonna say it," continued Blixa, and Nick let out inarticulate noises of despair. Blixa put his hands on his hips, threw back his head, and exclaimed "Nipples!", and the dark-haired man let out a deafening screech and began banging his fists on the ground and drooling onto the filthy yellow rug.

"It's Valentine's Day," stated Blixa casually but loudly enough to be heard over Nick's screams. Nick stopped screaming and looked back at him, still drooling heavily.  
"How could it be? It's the middle of Mörsugur!" he protested and gestured to a non-existent pornographic calendar.  
"I do not make the rules. I break them."  
Before Nick could protest, Blixa had astral-projected them into a cafe. Everything and everyone except for them and their table was on the velvet ceiling, and they were surrounded by a maze of carnivorous houseplants. Blixa's snake-stuffed seat was upside-down and gleaming, and he sat upon it with crossed legs and he had an air of regality as if he was the member of the royal family that lived in a dumpster.  
"We don't have money, Blixa - we can't do this," hissed Nick as he leaned over the table towards him, and Blixa gave him a big-dicked grin.  
"It's alright! Life's only certainty is dying in jail, anyways," he reassured Nick, but Nick was not reassured.  
Nick shifted and squirmed and swam around in his seat, and then a figure fell from the ceiling and onto their table - _breaking Nick's wrist as she landed_ \- and it was none other than Smiths! Nick yowled in agony for himself, and then looked up at her and yowled in agony for her.  
"Oy vey, you're working two jobs in Nevada and one in Berlin! Girl, we need to get you a gofundme!" he cried. She stared at him with and then let out an indecipherable noise that sounded like what would happen if a horrific car crash that covered the entire Autobahn involving hundreds of Howler monkeys and a single sentient foghorn was recorded and then given to a small child to edit in Audacity until it was completely mutilated. It was _not_ Smiths, and Nick awkwardly apologized; it may have been her cousin. 

"Could I get a me-" and the green girl without a nametag and Blixa both answered "No."

"This isn't that kind of cafe, _cracker_ ," Blixa snarled, "you don't order for yourself here. They order for you." The green girl jumped onto the ceiling and galloped away on all fours while Nick looked at Blixa in disgust.

"Don't tell me this is one of your subway bottom cafes," groaned Nick. He wasn't quite sure if his terminology was correct, but it got the point across as Blixa was staring at him with a knife in his hand. He shanked Nick with a blank expression and Nick winced a little but didn't seem to mind that much. They sat in silence for 2 hours and so did the rest of the cafe.  

Suddenly a voice boomed throughout the silent cafe, declaring only three words. "You're a hooker!"

"Ah, zat ist mein phone! I chave to make call now, ha. ha. ha." explained Blixa.

"Do not- don't- don't talk me- don't ever say anything like that again or I will goddamn kill you," pleaded Nick just as Bliчф pulled out a camcorder from his purse and put it to his ear like a phone, and from what little Nick could hear it wasn't just Blixa pretending to use a camcorder for a pretend phone-call instead of a banana; it actually worked. Nick tried not to pay attention to the conversation, but then he did because he was truly a little bitch.

"I can't get you those videos right now, dude! I'm in the middle of a cafe with my dad!" snapped Blixa with an exasperated expression on his face and he clenched the flower vase on the table and shook it vigorously as he spoke, and Nick looked at him with a quizzical look in his eyes. _Dad?_ A muffled voice from the other end sounded like it was negotiating.

"Wait...you'll pay extra? Hold on," Blixa turned away from Nick.

A barrage of questions followed, ranging from "Should I shave my head?" to "Can I pour hot coffee on myself?", more questions followed. He asked more questions, and then he asked questions, and after he asked questions he asked questions which prompted him to ask questions and after a moment of pondering he decided to ask more questions. The voice on the other end sounded increasingly frustrated and confused.

"Why am I asking you these questions?" Blixa suddenly snapped, "It's because I want this explicit videos to be a cintemasturbatic masterpiece! I want your full and complete satisfaction you ass-violin! I'm going to kill my dog!"

Nick heard a noise of approval, which made things weirder because Blixa did not have a dog.

A moment passed, and then Blixa frowned. Nick got increasingly more and more concerned.

"Do you want me to slit my wrists in the videos?" he suddenly jeered, slamming the vase onto the table.

"Use the blood as lube?? Is that what you want mister???" 

The voice from the other end yelled loud enough for Nick to clearly hear a "No, what the fuck?!"

A second passed and his mood lightened, and he started to smile, and Nick felt relief.

"What color socks do you want? I said what color; good answer. What kind of material do you prefer? Do you want me to make sure the brand uses animal cruelty or child labor? Answer the goddamn question." His mood got increasingly worse and now Nick wanted to die.

 "Alright, would you like for me to wear the Hello Kitty jockstrap or the "Robert Smith Was Here" boxer-briefs?" 

Blixa's eyes widened and his skin turned lobster-red as every single vein in his body popped.

"BAD ANSWER!" he howled so loudly even the cafes in Karaganda could hear him.

"I can and will pop 80 right now asshole!!! I hope you're happy, kitten!!!" he snarled before tossing the camcorder across the room so hard it exploded on someone's face, leaving them permanently disfigured and their DNA permanently infused with a hint of camcorder. Then Blixa began sobbing into the table and Nick awkwardly yet sympathetically reached out to pat him on the head, and Blixa spun his head around and bit Nick's fingers so hard some of them broke.

"I'm sorry I'm such a fufking failure of a pornographyapher," he sobbed, then he withdrew his head from the table, got out of his seat, and crawled underneath.

"Blixa, please," begged Nick, but Blixa refused to come out from underneath the table as his sobbing got increasingly louder. Everyone in the cafe except Nick clapped. 

Nick felt hands on his thighs, and he looked down to see Blixa kneeling between his legs. Nick squeaked, his skin turned as red as ketchup, and he puked a little bit in his mouth and he wasn't expecting it so a little came out of his mouth and landed on his lap.

"Blixa no! Calm down! Please! Not in here! Anywhere but here!" he pleaded with the bile still in his mouth, sloshing out with each word, but Blixa's face inched closer, and Nick screamed.

"We can't do this! Not in front of the children! Please think of the children, Blixa - the babies!" 

Suddenly the cafe was full of children and babies who were all crying and screaming and beating each other and chanting "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" and Blixa wasn't even phased and began snorting cocaine off of Nick's leg while Nick began to cry and the babies and children got increasingly more upset and so did the adults. Blixa clasped Nick's clammy hand as he snorted more and more lines off of Nick's legs until he finally had the strength to kick him off. _Was he going to let Blixa commit suicide by deliberately overdosing on crack he snorted off of his damp bile-covered legs?_ Hell no.

Nick then crawled over very very very slowly and kneeled over Blixa, put his hand over his face and gripped it tightly, and with a soft voice, he began to speak.

"I don't know how to say this subtly but please don't commit suicide. It must be hell living isolated from others and with heavy loads of trauma on your shoulders but please, please, keep moving forward. If not for anyone, do it in hopes of a better future and the contentness you'll feel living on your own some day. Live to one day find all the right space to let out all of the despair and anger and disgust life has thrown at you. Find a reason, no matter how small, and keep it with you. Maybe I can't find the right words to say and I'm not the right person to tell you this but I know you can find the courage you need to move up the mountain and down to softer patches of earth. Pain, no matter how intense it is or for how long it has festered, is temporary. There are kinder faces out there, and healing places to be explored and mysteries to be uncovered and things to be joyful about. There will always be a place for you in this world."

"who is this" asked Blixa, and before Nick could answer Blixa tore off his Pussy Galore t-shirt and revealed he had several bombs strapped to him which suddenly detonated killing everyone instantly.

 

 

Then Nick woke up again, greeted with the sight of Rage Chelvis and Blixa chewing on his nipples.

"Oh, great, you're up." Blixa enthusiastically grimaced.

"God is a sadist," said Nick.

 

=to be continued=>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is definitely a weird filler-y chapter and i would like to apologize for that but bear w me here bc this is the first one i have written while 1. not listening to the jerry jerry springer chant (10 hours) and 2. the sun was shining outside and it wasn't any time between 9PM-4AM
> 
> blixa's customer service dialogue comes directly out of my own dms press f to pay respects


	6. chatper 6: press f

“Please remove your teeth from my papillas mamarias, please," Nick pleaded with his husband and child, who in his blurry vision simply looked like one large pale blob and one small red blob. Blixa, reluctantly, stopped chewing and pulled away. Rage Chelvis would not stop, so Nick ejected him with his left breast and sent the baby flying across the room (gently). Nick got up from the bed, still shakened from his dream, and went to the bathroom. He turned on the light and thousands of cockroaches swarmed out, nearly knocking him over, and he with great effort steadied himself on an oversized toilet brush and ventured inside, grunting all the while as the cockroach swarms and the two-foot layer of wet-and-then-dried toilet paper were severely impeding his movement. He loudly and aggressively excreted in the sink, and as his vision appeared to be clearing up, he looked up at his reflection he shrieked.

 

"Daddy, what's wrong?" asked Blixa as he tried to walk in, stopping momentarily and taking a very deep sniff of the air as Nick turned to him and bared his teeth.

“Yo, Nick, were you grilling in he-“ he was cut off with a wail.

 

"You RUINED me! You and that damn demon child!" Nick screamed at the blurry stick he saw as he began gesturing towards his body, littered with burn scars, track marks, weird green spots, a parasitic twin he didn’t remember having, and now long, saggy, chewed up gnipples that hung down to his hairy belly.

"That is not my child and it is not my fault God made you ugly. Bitch," Blixa growled as he stormed out, "also the car exploded!" he added in cheerfully, and then clapped.

 

Nick stomped out of the bathroom, looked at the tall goblin twink and stared at him, and then he continued to look at him, and then Nick glanced at him, and he also made sure to glare seconds before he gazed at Blixa. Only now Nick’s vision cleared up fully, losing the extreme Fog of the Grog and the pulsing crimson filter of rage and noticed his six pack was gone, and so was the wedding dress. He was wearing a scraggly Kraftwerk Computer World shirt-gone-makeshift-crop-tank-top layered over it, along with his signature strap-on harness and a pair of shiny thigh high black stiletto rainboots. The entire look was topped off with thick eyeliner around one eye and yellow lipstick. Nick felt a rush of heat to his face, because Blixa had failed to apply pants and he really didn’t like that, and he knew his face was going royal blue (as it always did in times like these), and his anger intensified.

 

“Blixa,” Nick thought. “Me,” thought Blixa. They stood there in as much silence one could achieve with the noise of the hotel around them - from Rage Chelvis’ sobbing, to the screaming and gunshots in the room next door, and the whipcracks and cries of “k-kimochi iiiiii~!” in the other room next door. Nick stepped closer to Blixa, who stood as still as a pole with rats nailed to it. A foreign emotion illegally emigrated into Nick and overtook him, and he felt like a passenger in his own body. He grabbed Blixa by the shoulders, rattled him, and stuck his tongue deep into his cochlea.

The _insectenmensch_ shook like a leaf on the verge of being blown away by a cool autumn breeze, or like a person with Parkinson’s.

“Too infinite!” He snapped, shoving Nick onto the nearest garbage pile. The remaining fog in his mind dissipated and Nick laid there and looked up at Blixa groggily.

“Please touch me a little more finitely next time.”

 

Nick gave him a weak but understanding nod, sat up, and started dusting his ears off. He ruminated on his previous undefined emotion and within moments it clicked. Rage! What he felt was rage! It all made sense, and then Rage Chelvis started crying. Nick was not a completely worthless parent so he crawled over each garbage mound until he found his child. He tried to pick Rage Chelvis up, but he kept slipping out of his hands. He had never known such a slippery baby, and especially not a slippery baby with lobster red skin and large chartreuse-colored eyes. Blixa laughed behind him and Nick turned to him. Nick turned back and kept trying to pick up Rage Chelvis, but he kept slipping out of his hands and falling back into the garbage. Ten minutes passed, Blixa was still laughing, and Nick turned around and screamed incomprehensibly at the pants-less German over and over again and threw garbage everywhere until his sentences went from primal screeches to something that sounded vaguely like “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BABY?! OUR BABY!!!”

 

“It wouldn’t stop crying, so I did what any German mother would do! I covered it with a whole jar’s worth of vaseline and administered over 200 suppositories!”

“You pick him up, then.” Nick’s delivery was as cold as a corpse in the fridge.

“Ach, Australians,” Blixa immediately picked up the child without a problem, “We Germans are immune to Vaseline.”

 

Nick stood there with widened eyes as Blixa held the infant with his arms stretched out and his hands underneath his arms, a disdainful expression on his face. Nick could chose to be outraged over the way Blixa was holding “their” child, or the absurdity that Blixa was able to do something so easily that Nick struggled and failed at for over 20 minutes, or perhaps Blixa’s lack of modesty, but instead he decided to bring up something else.

“Em, Blixer? If Vaseline has no effect on the Germans, then...” he paused, averting his gaze from his husband to his pointy shoes, and he made a movement that suggested a self-induced cringe.

 

“Then what?”

He looked back up at him and blurted out “Then what do you use for lube?!”

Blixa looked at him with a mixture of shock and seething disapproval, as if Nick had asked the most idiotic question next to “how do you scramble eggs?”.

“Morning dew, marmalade, motor oil, marmite, things like that!” he snapped, nearly dropping Rage Chelvis as he used one hand to gesticulate violently, snapping out another “If a German asks to walk you out in the morning dew, it’s not an invitation for a friendly stroll!”

Each word hit Nick like a dart, and his discomfort boiled over.

“COVER UP YOUR COCK YOU DIRTY LITTLE MAGGOT MAN!” Nick screamed as he balled his fists into his hair and spontaneously launched a single man-ovary (idk what they’re called) out of his mouth as he screamed in distress. Blixa stood there in silence, and then he tossed Rage Chelvis at Nick and dug around in one of the trash bags, pulling out a yellow plaid kilt and putting it on.

“Thank you,” he exhaled as he tried to hold the slippery baby in place.

“It’s not for you. I just don’t want to be a registered sex offender when we leave the room.” Blixa sighed as he straightened up and grabbed his purse.

“Let’s figure out how we’re going to leave.” he said, and then he opened the door and walked out before Nick could ask to elaborate. Gripping his son, he followed behind Blixa cautiously, until Blixa phased through the ceiling, so Nick made the rest of the awkward trek to the front desk to check out alone.

 

Outside the hotel, Blixa stood in front of what used to be their parking space. He turned when he heard footsteps behind him and, for a moment, relished the shocked look on Nick’s face. “What the fuck happened here?!”

“I told you earlier, you just weren’t listening because you were so focused on my privates,” Blixa hissed.

“I couldn’t even see anything, Blixa. You were a blur.” he protested, but neither of them pressed on. They had no means of transport because their car was reduced to several burning piles of junk in a hot asphalt crater.

There were no cars to steal, and no Tracy Pew to steal them. They were, completely, genuinely, absolutely, _fucked_.

 

“Beep beep.” said a deadpanning male voice, but when they looked up there was nobody there. Blixa tentatively approached the side of the road, and he squinted into the morning sandstorm and saw a figure, perhaps a car, moving towards them at an incredibly fast speed.

Nick followed Blixa, and looked at the approaching figure with him, and he stuck out his thumb and struggled to hold onto Rage Chelvis with one arm.

“Let me hold him,” offered Blixa in a tone that sounded almost exasperated, yet he took the child out of his arm and into his almost tenderly, which left Nick a bit wide-eyed.

The figure stopped abruptly in front of them, and it was no car.

It was Rowland holding a cardboard cutout of a car, with the driver’s side window cut out, with his arm coming out through it and holding the bottom of the two-dimensional cardboard car for support.

 

“Ah, Rowland,” Nick greeted him awkwardly, and Rowland’s face contorted into a maniacal grin and he remained silent.

“Why are you here? Have you comed to hel-“ Nick tried. He really did.

“No!” Rowland’s smile grew wider, “I have come to watch you, and only you, fail.”

 

And them Rowland snickered, chuckled, tittered, giggled, and then laughed, guffawed, cackled, in that order. Nick tried to open his mouth, but he was interrupted by a barrage of anything between “heehees”, sometimes following “tees”, and “hoohoos” and “hahas” and “muahahas” and even “wah hah hahs”, going so far as to add in “jajajas” and «хахаха». He did the witch cackle, the Michael Jackson hee-hee, the sarcastic deadpan drawn out “ha. ha.”, the amused teenage shriek, the angry brink-of-committing-murder laugh, the Louisiana two-one three-one seven-five hoot’n’holler, there was not a single laugh in the world that Rowland did not do, even fake laughter.

 

“Can I come?” Blixa asked suddenly, putting an end to Rowland’s hour long laughter session. He shrugged and said “Go ahead, get behind me.” He punched out the back “window” for Blixa and before Nick could protest, Blixa had gotten behind the cutout and hooked his arm out the window and underneath the cutout to support it, and they walked away.

 

“Wait! Blixa!” Nick shrieked and he ran behind him, forcing every cell in his body to do everything in their power to help him catch up. Rowland and Blixa didn’t respond as Nick caught up behind them, and he reached out to grab the back of the cutout, fingers brushing and almost clenching onto the cardboard, until he felt a shock of adrenaline, panic, as he sensed the balance in his body shift, watched his fingers slip, and felt the hot asphalt of the road as he fell. He pushed himself up on his hands and knees and looked up, and his step-father and husband were just blips in the sandy horizon. His step-father and husband and son. His son. Blixa was still holding Rage Chelvis. Nick was screaming in agony now, and he forced himself to crawl despite the ache in his body and soul. He must persevere.

 

And Nick did persevere, crawling for at least 2 days on their trail, sniffing the road, jumping out the way of cars, getting hit by cars sometimes after staring at the headlights too long while in deep thought, and he had hope.

Until he hit a crossroad, and he had no means of determining which way they went. Nick, dehydrated, starving, dirty, bloody, with his body adorned in rags and head adorned with tangles, who looked and felt slightly above roadkill, laid down in the middle of the crossroads and sobbed as the rough asphalt jabbed and burned his face and body. He hoped, quietly, the soft sound of the motor he newer behind him would be the one to end him, but instead it stopped. A car door opened. He heard footsteps, but he couldn’t lift his head to look at what approached him.

The voice was deep, coarse and raspy - like someone who went through two packs of cigs a day, and sounded almost masculine, with a heavy Chicagoan accent.

 

“Oy gevalt, Jerry!”

 

=to be continued=>

 

 


End file.
